


Once... Always... (part 3)

by EmmyRK



Series: Wacky Drabbles [6]
Category: The Nanny Affair (Visual Novel)
Genre: Cheater, Cheating, Condoms, F/M, Foreshadowing, Marriage, Paparazzi, Pixelberry, Revenge, Smut, affair, nanny - Freeform, playing cards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:00:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26176093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmyRK/pseuds/EmmyRK
Summary: Warning: angst; language; smut; hint of domestic violence; infidelity
Relationships: Sam Dalton/Main Character (The Nanny Affair)
Series: Wacky Drabbles [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859050
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Once... Always... (part 3)

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: angst; language; smut; hint of domestic violence; infidelity

Brynn painfully shudders, wincing and gnashing her teeth at the sharp reverb of plunging utensils against her filigree-adorned china. She painstakingly flutters her eyes open when the irritating waves of clanging dispels. Her guilt-stricken husband balances an impressive stack of the lavish plates, dirty utensils separating each dish haphazardly.

 _“Sam!”_ she scoffs. “It’s bad enough you used the fine dinnerware for Chinese take-out for the kids. Can we _please_ not break the $180-a-place-setting dishes?” She rolls her eyes, licking the duck sauce off her fingers as she carefully finishes scraping Chinese leftovers into coordinating white take-out boxes.

Sam gingerly grasps the cups from the dinner table as he quickly excuses himself with his tail between his legs from the line of fire. His breathing labors as his eyes dart around the room, his paranoia overcoming his senses. Her outburst is all the convincing he needs: his wife _must_ know about his indiscretion. Brynn _never_ spoke to him like that; she would _never_ raise her voice at him over something so trivial. And work? She _never_ worked late like this on a Friday, at least not without texting him first. She knows. She _has to_ know.

He gently lays the crumb-laden plates into the sink along with the sticky forks and knives, allowing them to soak in the warm, sudsy water. Inconspicuously shifting his eyes around him, he watches Brynn waddle into the kitchen, placing the remnants of the family supper in the refrigerator. She swipes a few baby gherkins, popping one halfway into her mouth as she nudges the stainless-steel door closed with her knee.

Feeling his dark, remorseful stare, watching her every move, she stares back at him, crunching into another bite of her pickle. _“What?”_ She knits her brows together with annoyance as Sam fumbles back with the dishes. _“What has gotten into you tonight?”_

He nervously chuckles, awkwardly shrugging his shoulders as he switches his concentration to scrubbing dishes.

He exhales slowly. His heart pounds loudly in his ears as he mentally prepares himself for the upcoming battle. His skin glistens under the ambient lighting of the kitchen as a feverish chill plagues his skin. Swallowing is becoming a conscience effort. With his back to his gravid wife, his face pains as he looks upwards, begging for mercy, praying for a miracle of freedom from the consequences of his depravity.

Denial: that’s his final answer. Brynn _thinks_ she know what she saw, but if he plays his cards just right, he can convince her that her hormones are rendering her irrationally emotional _again_. She didn’t see _anything_. That wasn’t him in the shower. That definitely was _not_ him in the shower with the nanny.

He feels trapped, leaving his aching head no choice but to spin a funneling web of excuses. After all, he wouldn’t have to resort to such despicable behavior if Brynn would faithfully attend to him like she used to before she accidentally got pregnant with their second child. Sam had very specific insatiable needs that she always fulfilled; but now, his cravings grew strong with his loneliness for her touch, for any woman’s touch.

He suddenly cowers. Delicate fingers skim the top of his shoulder, interrupting the dizzying carousel of his mind. _“Baby?”_ Her eyes host tears that tempt to fall down her glowing face. _“I’m really sorry,”_ she whispers, her voice riddled with sorrow. She sneaks under his arm, wrapping her arms around his waist snuggly. “I don’t mean to be so– so difficult!” Her whines trail off as she sobs into his shirt.

Rapidly drying his hands with a nearby hand towel, Sam quickly embraces Brynn tightly, holding her head close to his chest as he rolls his eyes. “Shhh,” he tenderly hushes. “Brynn, _sweetie_ , it’s okay. _We’re okay_.” He reassures her as the feeling of relief pours over his restless nerves.

“ _God_ , I feel like a _fucking_ lunatic sometimes.” Her voice quakes as she dabs her tears away with a nearby napkin before returning to Sam’s hug. Feeling the squeeze of his arms, she elicits a long sigh. “Do you _still_ love me?”

She looks up at her husband. He cups the soft hills of her cheeks as he falls into the stormy sea of her eyes. _“You are my love, Brynn Dalton.”_ An endearing grin spreads across her face as he tickles the tip of her nose with a gentle kiss. Sam combs his fingers through her chestnut waves, deeply kissing the top of her crown.

She leans her head against his broad chest again. “I wish you could’ve been at the doctor’s today.” She tightens her hug around him, releasing an innocent moan as she nuzzles deeper into him. _“I miss you,”_ she whispers.

Sam wraps his strong arms around her tightly, swaying her gently as if to dance to the melody of their beating hearts. _“I miss you, too, baby.”_

Maybe she doesn’t know after all; is he _seriously_ getting away with this? _She’s completely clueless_. Her ignorance about his affair comforts him, leaving him grateful for a second chance. He’s free; the weight of the world is no longer on his shoulders. His damning secret remains locked in the dark abyss of the unknown. She will _never_ know.

A voice clears behind them, breaking their hold.

 _“Son!”_ startles Sam.

Mickey stands with uncertainty, chewing on his cuticles as his eyes dart back and forth between his parents.

 _“Mom?_ I need to talk to you. _In private_.”

##  **************

_7:54._ After reading the time, Sam allows his gold Rolex to slink back down his wrist. Fine lines crease across his forehead; his hair is disheveled from the countless rakings of his fingers. His knee feverishly bounces as his eyes remain fixed on the hallway that leads to their home office. He shares their spacious taupe sectional with Mason who is nose-deep in the latest copy of _National Geographic_. Olivia sits in the lap of Mickey’s girlfriend Kennedy as they color an ocean scene with various sharks.

It’s been almost thirty minutes since Brynn escorted Mickey to the office to talk privately. Judging from his demeanor, Sam is convinced that his son is divulging to his stepmom what he saw earlier that afternoon; and yet, not a single sound ricochets from the room. No yelling. No crying.

Still, Sam feels his wrath building. How could Mickey do this to him? The boy _barely_ knows what sex is; he only _thinks_ he saw something sexual. And to betray his father like this: to share such disastrous information to a woman _not even_ of his _own_ blood, _not even_ his _real_ mother. Had he not raised him better than _this?_ To have loyalty?

The office door swings open. Brynn bounds purposefully into the living room. _“Livvy?”_ She reaches out for her daughter’s hand. “C'mon, baby girl. Bedtime. _Now_.” Olivia continues to color as she furrows her brow, a mannerism that boasts the spitting image of her daddy.

 _“Olivia! I said, ‘now’!”_ Tossing her crayons in an orange and green box, Olivia crosses her arms and pouts.

 _“No, ma'am!”_ Brynn blazes with anger. _“One… two…”_ The tired little girl begins to rub her eyes, whimpering as she extends her tiny, chubby fingers for her mom. Brynn swings her onto her hip, kissing her forehead. “Tell everyone, 'goodnight.’”

As Brynn retreats to tuck Olivia into bed for the evening, Mickey sulks into the room, refusing eye-contact with his father as he sits next to Kennedy on the floor.

Sam is stricken with a bout of uneasiness as his pulse accelerates. His neck ignites with blotches of red as a single vein pops out on his forehead–a vein his children have learned to fear. His wife appears to be upset about _something_ , restraining her anger by being abruptly short with their little girl. His son bears a cross of guilt as if he has committed a crime.

Sam’s jaw begins to twitch. _“You’ve got a lot nerve, kid,”_ he mutters.

The three teenagers focus their attention on Sam who’s eyes pierce into Mickey. _“Me?_ ” Mickey’s voice cracks, forcing him to clear his throat. “Are you talking to me, Dad?”

Sam dominantly stands. “Yes, _son_. I am.” Sam presses his tongue against his cheek, glancing in the direction of his daughter’s bedroom. _“You don’t know what the hell you’ve just done–”_ Sam snarls, shaking his head.

_“What are you even talking about, Dad?”_

Sam grabs his son by the collar, standing him up to eye-level. _“You know what you did!”_

 _“What in God’s name is going on in here?”_ Brynn angrily storms the room as she massages the tightness that grows across her bump. “I _know_ you are not about to lay a hand on _my_ son.” Sam lets go of Mickey’s shirt; Brynn gently rests her hand on Mickey’s shoulder, ruffling his hair in an effort to reassure him.

Sam turns his attention to his wife. _“C'mon, Brynn, I know what’s going on here!”_ he roars.

She raises an eyebrow in shock as she crosses her arms. “Well, start talking, _Mr. Dalton_. I’d like to know, too.”

_“Don’t play stupid! I know you know!”_

Brynn breathes slowly and deeply before releasing a dramatic exhale. “Mase, Mick,” Brynn glances over her shoulder. “Take Kennedy, and grab the extra floor pillows and blankets from the game closet.” Her head remains fixed over her shoulder until the children are out of earshot.

She charges at her husband as she braces her abdomen. _“Samuel!”_ She repetitively and forcefully slaps his shoulder. _“What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?”_

He holds up his arms, blocking her shots. _“Oh, c'mon, Brynn!”_ He catches her wrists, holding her hands captive. _“I know what Mickey told you!”_

She twists her arms out of Sam’s grip as she steps back and away from him. She crosses her arms as she shifts her weight onto one hip. _“So?”_

Sam double-takes in a state of disbelief. _“What do you mean, 'so’?”_

She rolls her eyes. “I mean, 'So?’ as in 'So what?’ It’s _not_ a big deal.”

“It–It’s _not_?” Dumbfounded, Sam’s mouth slowly falls open.

“ _Of course, not._ Shoot, I wish I had been comfortable with my parents at that age to ask them about kissing–”

 _“Kissing?”_ Sam freezes. His cheeks quickly burn from embarrassment. “Brynn, I–”

She interrupts, “What was he _supposed_ to be telling me?”

Sam opens his mouth, unable to form a rational answer, let alone a single English word. He is wrong; he is humiliated. Though she remains in the dark about it, his secret affair with the nanny is already stressing the relationships that matter the most to him. He hates himself for putting Mickey through this, for putting his wife through this. The normally level-headed man is a basket-case of anger, lashing out as his loved ones for the sake of keeping his sinful fling under-wraps.

Brynn rolls her eyes, letting out a steep sigh. She tucks her hair innocently behind her ears as she cautiously approaches Sam, again. _“Sam.”_ She slides her fingers up his chest as he locks his arms snuggly around her shoulders. He presses his cheek against hers as he lets out an exasperated sigh. Her voice softens with sweetness. “Where is this anger coming from? You have been on edge all evening.”

He cups her face, stroking tender circles down her chin. His eyes search the depths of her gaze before darting to the delicacy of her hungry lips.

Brynn whispers into the silence as his lips threaten to feast on hers. _“Did I do something wrong?”_ Her words hitch in her throat as tears well-up in her eyes. _“Is it me?”_

Sam sinks deeper into the quick sand of his guilt. As he stares into her unwavering and loving gaze, she actually believes that she could be the culprit behind his odd, erratic behavior. He hates this; he hates _himself._

His mouth meets hers as he licks her top lip. _“No, my love,”_ he utters between kisses. _“You’re perfect.”_ He deepens the kiss, gracing the fullness of his tongue with hers in hopes to cease her curiosity. He can feel her lips curl into a smile against his, satisfying the assurance he needed that she still fully trusted him. _She doesn’t know._

 _“Ahem.”_ Mason stands in the walkway with an unpopped bag of popcorn as his parents dismount. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but can I start on the popcorn?”

Sam turns his attention to Brynn, confused as she smiles coyly. “I told the kids that we’d have a family movie night.” She laces her fingers with her husbands hand. “C'mon. Before they burn the place down.” She brings his hand up to hers as she presses her lips against his hand.

A shudder of fear shoots through him as Brynn’s eyes hover on his ring finger. His band is missing. And she clearly notices.

##  **************

_“Night, Mom.”_

_“Goodnight, boys.”_ Brynn grabs a basket of dirty clothes before pulling the twin’s room door closed. Her face falls as she shuffles down the hallway to the laundry room. As she separates the whites from the colors, searching Mason’s pockets for his inhaler and Mickey’s pockets for packets of gum, her fuzzy mind unreels from the blur of an unimaginably hectic day. Her eyes ache, strained from her afternoon of weeping. Her throat bears soreness, burned by her countless heaving efforts. But still, her face remains brave.

Carefully considering her surroundings, Brynn retreats quietly on her tip-toes to the home office, pulling the pocket door closed behind her. She quickly folds over, placing her hands on her knees as she gasps for air. Her performance as the oblivious wife is _seamless_ , but the effort weighs gravely on her broken heart. She sips air through clenched teeth, slowly exhaling through parted lips.

A single tear slopes the length of her nose, hanging tight to the tip as she catches her reflection in the broad, wall-length window. The brilliance of the twinkling New York City scape casts a harsh contrast against her weathered body. She stands up, drawing close to the mirrored-image of herself; she massages the dark bags under her red eyes; she gently lifts her delicate skin, smoothing out the fine lines of age and stress.

Letting out a sigh of hopelessness, she leans her forehead against the cold glass, allowing the gravity of the day wash over her. Broken. Bled-out. She feels everything and nothing. She chews on the sides of her mouth while streams pour down her cheeks; the unbearable, crushing weight of her marriage consumes her wholly. The taste of love is nothing but a cruel nightmare. 

In an instant, however, Brynn steadies her breathing before focusing her gaze on her Vuitton satchel. Even though the sun has set on this horrid day, Brynn’s day is far from being finished.

She slowly makes her way to the solid oak desk, dragging her fingertips across the velvety woodgrain. She carefully unbuckles her brief case, unpacking a crinkled plastic CVS bag and a hefty stack of time-sensitive business documents, warranting her attention.

She turns on the warm glow of the desk lamp as she carefully eases herself into the tufted-leather chair. As she pulls her wrapped pharmacy purchase closer to her reach, she briefly pauses, closing her eyes as she presses her tongue to the corner of her mouth. Inside the bag hosts her _secret weapon,_ the token she needs to ensure her family’s success. She refuses to allow this indiscretion to destroy everything they had worked for, everything they had created.

She removes the flimsy cardboard box from the wrinkled shopping bag. With her nails, she carefully removes the safety seal before folding back the box top. Like a magician pulling out an unending chain of tied handkerchiefs, Brynn pulls out the entire pre-package, pre-perforated aluminum wrapper chain of ten. They have never used them as a couple, but she knew she got _just the right size._

A smirk grows on her face as she marvels at her insurance ticket. After inspecting them with a discerning eye, she places them back into the plastic bag, hiding them in a drawer. She settles back into the comfortable seat as she closes her eyes. She holds her growing abdomen tightly and protectively, relishing in the graceful tumbles.

 _“Are you okay?”_ She startles at the handsome voice. She glances to a relaxed, shirtless Sam, leaning casually against the doorframe. Reflexively biting her lip, her eyes wonder across her husband’s taught body: the curves and concaves of his chest and abdomen seductively dance as he breathes. His usual navy blue knit pajamas hang carefully on the sharp-crafted edges of his hips; despite being too big, they meticulously outline the contours of his solidly plump derriere.

She makes haste, shuffling through her papers as Sam saunters to her side. He brushes up behind her, hovering over her body. He nuzzles his nose gently against her neck, the lacy-strap of her negligee slipping off of her freckled shoulders under his warm breath. Soft moans escape her lips as he peppers her soft skin with steamy kisses.

 _“Samuel, please,”_ she playfully smiles, shrugging off his rousing bites.

 _“Hmmm… yes, my love?”_ He begins to suckle on her skin, pulling her into his mouth.

“There’s work–” she swallows hard as words escape her mind.

_“Later.”_

She retreats from his touch, leaning against the desk as her gaze meets the erotic desire in his eyes. _“Baby,”_ she cups his cheek. “I’m serious.”

Sam scoffs, flopping carelessly in the desk chair. _“Really, Brynn?”_ He rakes his hands over his face. “I thought _surely_ after what happened during the movie tonight–”

 _“Shhh,”_ she hushes. She hoists herself onto the edge of the desk. She slowly gapes her legs open, revealing her soft nude skin to her husband. The longing in her eyes hook him, bating him to touch her. She lowers her voice. “Baby, I just need to get this paperwork finished.” She rests her foot on his knee, carefully crawling her toes to the drawstring of his pants.

He places a large, firm grip on her thigh. Feeling her skin sear against his, seeing her gorgeous body–imagining the taste of her sweet depths hardens his length; he desires nothing more than to overpower her, to take what belongs to him. _“Brynn, I–”_

 _“Help me, Sam?”_ She whimpers as she leans back onto the desk, allowing her nightie to expose her entirely as she rests on her elbows. _“Please?”_

 _“Fuck me.”_ Visibly trembling, he rubs his eyes, shaking off his lustful throbs. He raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. What–what do we need to do?”

She carefully crawls off the desk. She palms a large stack of documents and receipts as Sam wraps his arm around her hips. He mindlessly rubs her budding abdomen as he watches her tediously finger through countless copies of BOLs, BOSs and receivable receipts. In moments like these when he observes the insurmountable loads of paper-pushing, he is grateful to have a business partner like his wife; she takes care of all of the important documents, leaving him worry-free.

“And what is _all_ of this for _again_?”

She chuckles. “It’s the end of the quarter, _Sam._ ” She smiles to herself, knowing he would be lost if left to handle his own accounts. “And especially with the new laboratory remodel, our auditors are way behind with our vendors.”

“Wait, so we haven’t paid our bills?”

She shakes her head. “No, _silly._ Everything is kosher. This is just the paperwork part.” She stops for a moment, pushing back his wavy hair to kiss his forehead. “Don’t you worry.”

She hands Sam half of the stack. “Cindy already went through, and highlighted where I needed to sign.” Sam’s eyes grow wide as he takes note of the multiple fluorescent blurs on each page.

 _“Hey,”_ Brynn lifts his chin up with her finger, sealing her lips on his. “You don’t have to do this, baby.” Noting his overwhelmed-look, Brynn takes back the documents, and turns back to the task at hand.

Sam is determined to finish what they started physically. He quickly grabs her wrist, twirling her back into his grasp. Without saying a word, he removes the stack from her arms along with the accompanying black pen, and starts inking his signature in the designated areas.  
  
She embraces Sam’s neck, whispering into his ear, _“Thank you. You’re the best husband ever.”_

Naturally, Brynn finishes first, hiding the documents safely into her bag. She sneaks up behind Sam, hugging his neck again. With the touch of her hand, his pace quickens with each squiggle and turning of the page. She traces her fingers down the toned expanse of his hairy chest. She nibbles on his ear lobe, swirling her tongue in circular motions, gently pulling on him. He fumbles his pen as his toes curl. Brynn’s voice becomes husky. _“You make me wet, Mr. Dalton.”_

Sam groans in his chest, warring with himself as he flips through the last few sheets of papers, signing an illegible signature. He can almost feel her dripping on him; he longs to be saturated by her.

Brynn’s mouth wanders to his jawline, her fingers gently tugging on his nipples. With the pang of excitement, Sam grunts, bucking his hips as he closes his hands on her hands. _“Brynn–”_

He turns his head over his shoulder. His thirsty lips devour her instantly as he winds his fingers tightly into her locks. After several breathtaking minutes, Brynn gently pulls away, casually teasing the sexual tension into a chase. 

As she leans up against the desk awaiting her husband’s sensual touch, she reaches into the desk drawer. She retrieves her purchase from the crumpled plastic shopping bag. She tears along the perforations, quickly returning her attention to Sam. 

He furrows his eyebrows. “What is _that?_ " 

She holds out her open-palm, revealing a small, bronze-colored package, made of a thin foil. The wrapper itself is in the shape of a square, but the contents inside leave the deep impression of a circle.

He raises an eyebrow, chuckling in disbelief. "Don’t you think it’s a little late for that now?”

“I want you to wear it,” Brynn demands.

 _“A condom? Really, Brynn?”_ Her stare remains serious, fixed on him; she doesn’t budge. An eerie chill swims through Sam’s body. Guilt wrecks his nerves as he observes his wife run cold from her previously warm demeanor. He clears his throat, playing it cool with a confident chuckle. “Isn’t that one of the benefits of getting knocked-up: you don’t have to use birth control?”

She dismisses his comment with a soft snicker as she looks away; the sting of knowing that she contracted a venereal disease because of his unfaithfulness proves too raw, too emotional at the moment. The diagnosis and the collateral damage is still painfully fresh; his jovial attitude rubs salt into her wounds.

She fights for control of her emotions; once the sting in her blue eyes flees, she fixes them back on Sam. _“Doctor’s orders.”_ She offers a yearning grin. _“Please, love?”_

He considers her words as he focuses on the Trojan package in her hand. Is this a trick? Shaking the guilt from the truth, Sam gives a curtly nod, his smile warming as he takes the rubber.

He approaches her, lacing his grip with her delicate touch; his gaze knits together in fervor with hers. He lifts her onto the desk as he plunges back into her pout. He slinks the delicate straps of her gown off of her shoulders; allowing the fullness of her playful breasts to bounce into his possession.

He gently settles her onto her bare back, feasting his way across her neck and onto her stiff peeks. Her breath catches as she yelps to the brushing of his teeth against her hard nipples. As he savors the expanse of her breasts in his mouth, his hand softly travels between her legs. Arching her back to the simple brush of his thumb elicits a starved whimper. 

_“Sam–”_

He harvests her sensual dew, dampening himself before embedding his fingers into her tight, narrowing center. He feels her squeeze around his hand as he purposefully slides in and out of place. He unwraps his hardened girth, fondling himself intimately, pulling on his entire length.

Unable to quiet his ravenous craving, he blossoms the brim of her depths with his fingers before consuming her. Teasing and patting at her clit, her quaking legs seek refuge on his broad shoulders. His deliberate circles and strokes with his greedy tongue troubles her senses, lolling her head back in shock.

 _“Sam–”_ she pants in agony. _“Please–”_

_“What does my dirty, dirty girl want?”_

_“You–”_

Before the words can fully escape into the air, Sam shuffles Brynn to her feet. Slipping the requested protection on, he eagerly bends her over the office desk. He gives her a brisk, tantalizing spank against her bare cheek; Brynn whimpers with dreadful anticipation. She grits her teeth as he guides the tip of his length along her slit. He tangles his grip in her hair, holding on to her as he pushes his full length deep into her warmth. She relinquishes low, rasping moans as her body painfully strains to stretch around his firmness.

Feeling her finally relax, Sam roughly pulls on her long locks as he crashes his hips, sliding his full length into her harder and faster with each plunge.

 _“God–”_ She struggles to speak between his thrusts as tears begin to roll down her cheeks. _“Samuel, please–”_

Keeping himself inside, he rolls Brynn onto her back like a ragdoll. Grasping behind her knees, he continues to shove his girth rhythmically into her.

“That’a girl. Do it… for me? _Only me_ –”

With one final flex into her deep center, pleasure overwhelms him as he hurtles into waves of hypnotic ecstasy; his eyes fog with elation as his body buckles, plunging him into an ocean of euphoria. Unable to form words, his bellowing groans tumble from the rafters of thrilling satisfaction.

Exhausted, Sam flops back into the office chair as he slows his breathing. Brynn finds her spot in his lap as he instinctively holds her close, grazing her shoulder with his lips.

_“My love, did you…?”_

She forces a smile, quickly planting a steamy kiss on his mouth. He savors it, moaning against her touch. He leans his forehead against hers.

_“I love you, Brynn.”_

##  **************

_Ten days._

It’s been ten whole days since Brynn found herself plagued by the lie of a perfect life, but she knows better now. It’s been ten days since she witnessed Sam’s recklessness in the shower with the nanny, but she knows better now. It’s been ten days of tears, ten days of anger, ten days of fear, ten days of blaming herself; but still, she knows better now. Brynn has spent ten days comforting her children, ten days of establishing normalcy; she has spent ten days allowing her unfaithful husband to ravage her body to his own liking in hopes that he won’t discover that she knows better now.

It’s been ten days. It’s been ten long days. But still, Brynn puts on a brave face because she knows better now.

##  **************

“What do I do with the sevens again?”

Mason shakes his head as he throws down his cards; Mickey groans, covering his face.

 _“Baby girl,”_ Brynn chuckles, leaning in close to whisper to her daughter. Putting her index over her mouth, she continues, “You’re not supposed to show or tell anyone what cards you have.”

“Remember Livvy?” Mason encourages. “It’s a secret. You collect the four suits of each type of card to form a book. Like, all four queens or all four tens.”

A disheveled Sam barrels into the room, frantically tucking in his shirt as he emerges into the living room. Brynn remains calm as she sips warm lavender tea, tracking her husband’s erratic movements through her solid glare.

“Daddy!” Olivia exclaims, her arms extended into the air for a hug

“There’s my princess!” He plants a kiss on her forehead before sharing a peck on Brynn’s cheek. He returns to nervously pacing through the other rooms of the penthouse. Mickey and Mason share concerning glances as they return to watching their dad.

“Missing something, _darling?_ ” Brynn raises an eyebrow.

“Um–” he glances around the room, ensuring he has his wallet. “No. Um, has _Becca_ left?”

Mickey shifts his eyes to his stepmom, giving the slightest nod as he returns to the card game.

“She left maybe fifteen minutes ago.” Brynn balances herself into a stand as she rests a hand on her extended belly. “Is everything _okay_?”

“Come play 'Goldfish’ with us!”

“Not right now, princess.” He turns his attention back to Brynn. “Everything is okay. _It’s just–_ ” his slows down his manic movements, lowering his voice. “Did you take the bank card?”

Brynn’s face grows with concern. _“Why?”_

“Nothing, I just–”

_Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt._

He’s interrupted by an incoming call, to which he quickly ignores.

“Everything is fine, love. Just some bad book-keeping.”

Her eyebrows knit with worry. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can help you with?”

_Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt._

He glances down at his phone, ignoring the call. He grabs Brynn by the shoulders, pressing a fervent kiss to her lips. “Everything is just fine.”

“Mommy, can we play 'Goldfish’ again?”

“Even better, baby girl. We can play 'Go Fish.’” Brynn saunters back to the couch, picking up the deck of cards to shuffle. The twins sit around the coffee table, watching the latest TikTok trends.

“Now, Olivia,” Brynn commands her five-year-old’s attention. Her words are clear, enunciated deliberately as she mixes the cards between her fingers. “Remember: it’s all about strategy. You are the _only one_ that knows what cards you’ve been dealt. You can’t trust anyone.”

Brynn pauses, casting a glare towards her husband; but to her surprise, his gaze his already fixed intently on her.

_Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt._

“So, you play along, _pretend_ that you are clueless. Make other players believe what you want them to believe. But then when you see your opportunity to win, _you attack_. You wanna know the best part about that?”

Olivia’s chunky expressive face lights up with wonder. “What?”

Brynn looks back to her husband, a Cheshire grin crawling across her face. His face slowly flushes, his forehead shiny from sweat. A cloud of steam billows from his ears as his jaw becomes rigid.

“They never saw it coming.”

_Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt._

He finally answers the phone with a roaring whisper. _“Becca, now is not a good time!”_ Quickly his tone changes. _“Wait, what? Calm down. You’re what?”_ He runs his hands down his face. _“Oh, for fuck’s sake–well, what did you say?”_

Remaining calm, Brynn carefully brings her mug of tea back to her lips. Her venomous eyes take aim as he frantically unravels from grace.

 _“Shit, okay–I’ll be right there!”_ He hangs up the phone, grabbing his keys as he bounds in a fury for the elevator. _“I’ll be back, guys!”_

Brynn sets down her mug. “Mickey, would you like to deal?”

##  **************

As the gold-plated elevator doors chime open, Sam spills into the exquisitely ordinate lobby to his home. He chaotically dashes past neighbors and security, searching distraughtly for his secret mistress. He pushes through the weighted-revolving door. Taking to the pavement, he looks up and down the street in hopes to rescue Becca from her terrified cries.

 _“There he is!”_ Sam whips around, being met by a sea of microphones, cameras and reporters. Stunned by the sudden storm of people, he slowly backs up to retreat inside his building. But unfortunately for him, it’s too late; he is met with incessant chatter and echoing flicks of flashes from the paparazzi.

 _“Mr. Dalton! Over here! Can we have a statement!”_ He wags his head to the left.

 _“Mr. Dalton, are the allegations true?”_ He wags his head to the right as he combs his fingers through his curly hair.

_“Mr. Dalton! Mr. Dalton! Over here! Is it true that you’ve been sleeping with your nanny?”_


End file.
